


richochet

by bishounen_curious



Series: craig and mathis' college years [2]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alcohol, College, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, frat party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishounen_curious/pseuds/bishounen_curious
Summary: Unsure about the status of your relationship? Nervous that your roommate-turned-best-friend-turned-boyfriend really is just that, you're boyfriend?If any hard-hitting questions are going to be answered, it's going to be in public at an alcohol-riddled frat party.





	richochet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [desaturatedblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desaturatedblack/gifts).



> yehaw!!! this is another commission I did for a desaturatedblack!! it features their Dadsona OC, Mathis -- a very awkward, anxious, occult-loving sweetie. dating your roommate and best friend is hard, so of course, if any problems and resolutions are gonna come up, it'll happen at a frat party, right? :)

ricochet

“Bro, take this.” Craig shoves his solo cup into Mathis’ very empty, very clammy hands. “You need it more than I do.”

Mathis knows Craig’s only got good intentions, but this kind gesture only makes his stomach churn. God, how obvious is it that he’s a nervous wreck at the moment?

It’s probably written on his face like a billboard with the way Craig wraps his arm around his waist and plants a kiss to the back of his neck. Which no doubt, is just as sweaty as his palms. Mathis shudders. He’s grateful to be in the perimeter of the party, curled up on a beaten-up frat house couch with his not-so-secret-but-not-exactly-advertized boyfriend. Because what if someone sees or begins to question Craig about them or —

Hm. Maybe Craig’s right. He _does_ need a drink.

Mathis swallows the whiskey doubleshot and sets the cup down gingerly on the floor. Craig’s laughter huffs against his neck.

“Nice.” 

“Look at you, trying to liquor me up at a party.” Mathis wants to be smooth and inviting, deflect just how jittery he really feels, but his voice pitches like it used to in puberty. He can’t help but wince. 

“It’s because you need it, bro. That’s my only intention — calming you down.” Craig’s answer is defensive. It’s cute. “I can practically hear you having heart palpitations.”

Ha.

“Seriously,” Craig’s voice drops down but his hand floats up, fingertips skating just above Mathis’ choker, the underside of his jaw and neck. Can Craig feel just how clumsy his pulse is? “I dunno why you’re so on-edge. You finished that final essay yesterday. It’s Friday. We got curly fries for dinner. If there’s something bothering you, y’know you can confide in me, right?”

“I-I’m well aware.”

Of course Mathis is. Logically, he knows he can troubleshoot with Craig — vent or ask advice or solve problems. However, theory is easy to memorize, but application of theory is a lot more difficult to master. Because no situation is black and white — everything is a variable. 

Latelyt, Mathis’s life brims with variables.

Like the state of their relationship. Friends with benefits? Sure. Boyfriend? Hmm. They haven’t even had proper sex since the corn maze, and that was weeks ago. Can you even be called friends with benefits if it’s just hand and mouth stuff? There has never even been a proper conversation about what they are, and that leaves Mathis unsure and beyond nervous. Is Craig reluctant to even talk about _them_? He hasn’t told any of his friends, not to his knowledge. Mathis hasn’t said a peep, either. Is this supposed to be a secret? Mathis can’t help but feel that way.

Airing out his half-baked what-ifs and fears to the person they revolve around doesn’t exactly sound that fun. So he keeps them to himself.

Craig’s jaw tightens, and Mathis knows his own non-answer to Craig’s invitation upsets him. But Mathis isn’t drunk enough to take him up on it, or even that distressed to break down and let it spill out on its own. He just can’t. Not at this frat party. Not while Craig’s fraternity brothers can watch. Not when Craig bought him dinner and told him he looked cute with his mouth full of fries, ketchum sticky on his fingers He can’t talk about it.

Not yet.

But doesn’t have to be so glum. Wallowing on this musty couch isn’t his idea of fun tonight, so Mathis springs up and extends an arm for Craig. It’s the least he can do. 

“Let’s play beer pong.”

The tense jaw and the hurt is replaced by mischievous glee as Craig joins him standing, popping up and readjusting the hem of his t-shirt. “Now you’re talkin’ my language, Mathis.”

When they arrived half an hour ago, they had passed a humid, crowded room full of shirtless men screaming over a sticky table. Mathis makes a beeline for that room. That’s exactly what he needs, he thinks. Getting excited and inebriated over a silly game. With the way Craig’s smiling and dishing out high fives to people he passes, he’s most likely in the same boat as he is.

Both of them need to blow off some steam.

Downstairs, they find the room Mathis remembers. It’s strange, how a small fraternity townhouse seems like a maze. Mathis almost laughs — Craig and him are far too adept at getting themselves lost. 

The open layout of the room and the weird, dimly-lit emptiness of it beside the kitchen reveals that it probably functioned as a dining room in the original floor plan. But college kids need more lounge space than proper dining space, so there went the dining table and chairs and in came the folding table and beanbag chairs and the tacky dart board, the orange lava lamp and the American flag with the frat’s letters where the stars should be. There is a lot less people in here now, but the pong table is still assembled and currently being neglected, which is exactly what Mathis had hoped for.

There’s a beer cooler in the corner and spare cups beneath the table, and Mathis gets to work. Craig helps him get a new game set up. “Yo.” Craig calls out to the people milling about, minding their own business, enjoying their own drinks, “anyone want to play us?”

Two guys instantly materialize out of nowhere. One of them Mathis recognizes as a friend of Craig’s, and another is a rando wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Both of them seem eager, and drunk enough to just go with the flow. 

“Great,” Mathis says, as he finishes pouring beer into the last remaining solo cups. “Craig and I’ll team up, and you two —“

“Woah, woah.” Craig holds his hands up. “Us a team?”

Mathis feels stupid all of a sudden. “Y-yeah?”

“Dude.” Craig laughs, and claps a hand on his shoulder. “We’re roommates. Roommates can’t partner up in this house.”

Mathis never has heard that rule — it’s not surprising because neither is he hear enough and nor is he a brother , but the two other guys nod and joke along with Craig, so Mathis just acquiesces. Albeit, a little flustered. 

Instead of responding, he lets himself get picked to partner up with the stranger, and Craig teams up with his friend, Alex. Mathis and Alex congregate on one end of the pong table, and Craig and Mathis’s partner pair up on the other. One person from both teams congregates on each side of the table.

“That’s a chill ass shirt.” Mathis at first doesn’t realize the comment is directed at him. But with a tap on his shoulder, he turns to meet Alex grinning at him, pointing at his cut-off tank. “Fuckin’ love The X-Files.” Mathis doesn’t really know what else to say. Is there anything else to, really?

“Scully’s such a fucking dime.” Alex nods, and takes a swig of his own beer — a crinkled can of Yuengling. He slams it on the table, smacks his cheeks, and shifts into a power stance, facing Mathis. “You better give me and Kegstand a challenge.”

He doesn’t take his own power pose, but Mathis finds it easy to smile. “Absolutely. You’re going down.”

“Ha!” Alex barks. “Hear that? My boy right here is gonna kick our asses.”

Craig cracks himself open a fresh beer. “Mathis is shit at pong, dude. You sure about that?”

“Hope that ain’t true, pal.” Alex regards Mathis cooly. “I want a challenge. Pity wins don’t feel good.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Alex whoops. “That’s the fucking spirit!”

Spirit is one thing. Skill is quite another. Craig’s statement at the start of the game is more like an embarrassing foreshadowing. Mathis can’t sink a single cup. But he definitely drinks plenty of the one’s Craig sunk for him. Over time, Craig lands the ping-pong ball in every one of the cups stacked in a pyramid. He makes Mathis drink, blowing a suggestive kiss or wink towards him after every successful throw.

Alex scrunches his face in playful distaste. “Y’all, please get a room. I’m beggin’ ya.”

Mathis chokes on the beer. 

“Stop eye-fucking each other and just. Bang. Without getting the rest of us wrapped up in it, yeah?” 

“Aww, dude.” Craig teases, knocking back some of his personal drink, the other guy next to Craig snickering. It’s his second beer — all of his own stacked cups still retain a perfect triangle shape. He’s clearly buzzed by his own choice. “If you wanna join in, you just gotta ask.”

Why can’t Mathis be telepathic? Right about now, discreetly telling Craig to shut his mouth is his only goal. Mathis cannot muster up the balls to chat about his relationship status with Craig — he sure as hell can’t joke about it with relative strangers.

But Craig apparently doesn’t pick up on signals very well, because he keeps chatting. Keeps blowing kisses at Mathis. Waving to him. Makes a fist with his right hand and brings it up to his mouth, and starts miming an enthusiastic, and sloppy blowjob.

Mathis’ stomach lurches.

“Oy, my pal.” A palm touches his back. “Are you… like, good?”

“Y-yeah, why’d you say that?”

“You’re like…” Alex’s voice quiets, and shoots Craig a suspicious look that Craig definitely sees. “I don’t know, hyperventilating? Do you want me to tell Kegstand to blow his own dick? He’s such a flirt, I’d kick his ass for you.”

“N-no, you don’t have to.”

“If he’s bothering you, dude —“

“No, he isn’t. Craig and I are —“

“Oh, shit, yeah.” Alex blinks. “You’re dating him. Your his roommate, yeah?”

“W-well, I don’t know if I’d say… dating…”

Alex, at this point, puts the game on hold. Mathis doesn’t have the heart to glance over at Craig to garner how he’s reacting to this. He probably shouldn’t even try. ”What do you mean?” Alex eyes him curiously, adjusting his snapback on his head. “Kegstand told me you two were a thing. Did that fucker lie to me or —?”

Mathis isn’t really sure why he’s being grilled by this frat boy. But the liquor blurring the hard edges of his anxiety and loosening his lips makes it manageable. And the fact that apprently, Craig _has_ been talking about them. As a couple. “I mean. We… we’re more than friends. Most friends don’t… well, y’know —“

“Bang each other?”

Mathis winces. “Yeah. More or less.”

“More or less?” Alex parrots, tossing up and down the sticky pong ball in his hand. He’s concentrating so hard, it’d almost be cute if this wasn’t such an awkward situation. “If his dick was in your mouth, I mean —“

“Well… it doesn’t happen frequently.”

Why is Mathis divulging this to him, anyway?

Alex scrunches his nose. “You want it to happen more often?” Mathis swallows, and looks away. Which is a mistake because across the table, Craig’s eying him, not neutrally, looking a bit… guarded. Upset. He’s sipping his beer with a narrowed brow, and Mathis’ throat tightens, and he immediately cowers back into the conversation with Alex. ”Do you?”

Mathis stares at his hands, fiddling with his friendship bracelets. “I mean… of course.”

Alex crushes his empty beer and tosses it away. “Look at ‘im. Just all jealous and seething to himself. Thinks I’m gonna pick up your twink ass. God, Kegstand is so dumb.” Alex pats Mathis on the shoulder, grinning. “I guarantee if you go up to him and give him a look, he’ll be all over you like _that_.”

Mathis tenses. Is it really that easy? It can’t be. Their situation is nuanced. It’s complicated. You can’t just get fucked by your friend in a parking lot in the middle of nowhere, and expect everything to go smoothly afterwards, right? Living together and making out when you’re both a little drunk, and waking up the next day acting normal? Having trouble changing in the open of their dorm? It’s hard. All of this is hard.

But Mathis isn’t sure why it has to be.

Mathis wants to say _thank you_ to Alex, but it feels cheesy, feels too Hollywood. Instead he smiles as he walks away, to the other side of the table to where Craig’s eying him with a greedy expression. Mathis pretends to be brave as he hooks a finger into Craig’s belt-loop, tugs him closer, and mumbles into his jaw, “I have to pee. Come with me?”

Mathis doesn’t have to pee. And he’s pretty sure that Craig knows that too. Especially with the way he stares wide-eyed at him, and nods. Slowly, deliberately, his wrinkled forehead relaxing with his face as he follows Mathis out of the room and to the bathroom.

Just like that.

Alex and the other guy, Mathis’ own partner, start hooting. Mathis doesn’t give them any thought. If he does, he’ll only psyche himself out. 

Craig’s fingers on his wrist are moist, a little clammy. Like how Mathis’ were. (Are). He’s not saying much, if anything he’s actually silent — Mathis can’t bring himself to sneak a glance at Craig’s expression. Because he’s being bold — something he never does. Never tries. Basically, without saying what he desires, but showing it with actions. Mathis never takes the lead, and Craig’s probably a little shaken up.

A little drunk, too.

Albeit, Mathis doesn’t know where the bathroom in this hell hole frat house is, but Craig yanks him to the right down a dimly lit, humid hallway, filled with shirtless guys and girls in bikini tops. There’s an ajar door, and Craig opens it, basically forces Mathis in, and slams the door behind him.

The bathroom light flicks on, and before Mathis can discern just how nasty the state of the toilet is, Craig shoves him against the door, rattling it in its squeaky hinges.

“Craig —“

“Is this your plan or something?” Craig huffs against his jaw.

Mathis opens his mouth, but stops. Plan? What is he talking about? He wants to ask as much, but Craig’s mouth starts to kiss his neck, trailing down his throat, and Mathis is only a tiny bit intoxicated and a whole lot horny so his question dies in his throat.

“Trying to make me jealous or whatever, then have me get all hot and bothered so we can fuck? Yeah?” 

Mathis stops Craig in his tracks. “Excuse me?”

Craig isn’t frowning, but he isn’t exactly pleased looking, either. “You and Alex. All close. Just chatting. I know you weren’t doing anything with him but like… I don’t know. A part of my brain just was like…. Stop. That’s my guy.”

Mathis isn’t sure how learning that Craig is slightly possessive of him makes him feel. Sober, he might have a different opinion. But right now, a little tipsy and slightly hard, he finds it downright delicious. 

“Why?” Mathis asks, tilting his head. “The thought of me flirting with someone else makes you mad?”

Craig flusters at the question. Someone wasn’t expecting pushback, it seems. “I mean —“

“Maybe you should try and claim me.”

Both Craig and Mathis are taken out of the moment at that. Mathis slaps a hand over his mouth and feels a bloodrush stain his cheeks. God. How much did he actually drink? To say _that_.

Craig snaps out of the shock first. His loopy grin returns and he’s closing in on Mathis’ face, tugging on the fabric of his shirt, specifically on Mulder’s face. “That’s pretty spooky, Mathis.” Craig leers, his breath sending chills along his balmy skin. “Hearing you act all sexy like that.”

“It’s the booze, I swear.” Mathis tilts his face away, still laughing at his own humiliation. “I’m not that brave.”

“C’mon, bro.” Craig teases, his clammy hand crawling up his stomach and brushing over Mathis’ nipple. “Self confidence is the sexiest thing in the world.”

“Guess I’m not sexy, then.”

“Babe, if I didn’t think you were sexy, would I do this?” Craig’s teeth sink into his neck, and Mathis arches back, thumping against the door almost painfully, rattling the door in its frame.

“Mm. Maybe. You’re too nice.” Mathis groans, giving Craig more room to work, his teeth scraping his flesh in all the right places, his fingernail scratching against his nipple. His body jolts, knocking against the door again. He’s resigned to the bruises he’ll probably have on his back in the morning.

The bathroom is just as nasty as Mathis expects it to be. He notices the grime on the tiles in the shower, the mold on the bottom of the shower curtain, the way the vanity mirror really needs to be wiped down. It’s not the most ideal place to get busy with your maybe-boyfriend, but hell, both of them aren’t too concerned about their surroundings when they have each other to distract themselves from it.

“Too nice?” Craig jokes. “How does that work?”

Mathis smirks, edging his knee into Craig’s crotch. “Can I suck your dick?”

Craig’s eyes widen. “Oh, dude, you don’t have to —”

“See?” Mathis says, slipping his arms around Craig’s waist. “Too nice.”

“W-well.. That and…” Craig laughs, pulling away from his throat, so he can gesture down. “Do you really want to kneel on this nasty ass floor?”

Mm. Good point. Mathis scrunches his face before he bursts into laughter. “I would prefer if I didn’t get piss on these jeans.”

“Me too.” Craig snorts. “That’s a mood killer.”

Mathis plants a kiss on Craig’s lips, smiling all silly. “Guess we gotta bring it back. The mood.”

“Any ideas?”

Lips pushing on lips, and hips grinding into hips, Mathis watches Craig’s smirk fall apart with a soft gasp. Craig squeezes his side, pinning him even more to the door. “This work for you, Kegstand?”

“Drunk grinding like teenagers at a party?” Craig exclaims, rutting back into him. “Sign me up.”

Mathis hooks his thigh around his hip, lurching away from the door as Craig presses closer, their hips starting to rock. Mathis releases a cut-off moan, the friction warming his belly. Both of them are in jeans, but the feeling of their confined cocks rubbing into one another, only growing harder by the second, is something Mathis has been needing more than he ever thought he would. The door keeps rattling, their combined weight knocking into it, obvious and shameless for anybody outside the bathroom. Anyone outside has to know what’s going on, more or less. Maybe they don’t even care.

Mathis doesn’t mind if they’re being obvious. His dick definitely doesn’t.

They’re back to kissing, Craig’s mouth coaxing Mathis’ panting one open with enthusiasm. There’s teeth clacking and bruising lips, and there’s more saliva than necessary, but it’s good. Good because Craig’s cementing him against the door, his hands up Mathis’ shirt in a way that screams desperate. Squeezing his obliques. Scratching his ribs. Groping his tummy and his hips, all the while working their hard pricks together. It was going from good to uncomfortable fast, and Mathis needed more freedom, more friction. 

He refuses to come in his pants.

“Mathis, fuck.” Craig’s breath hitches. “Take your shirt off.”

“My shirt?” Mathis swallows, unsure in the way he traces Craig’s biceps. “Not undo my pants, or —”

“Both?” Craig’s voice sounds distant, confused. “I want everything, _fuck_.”

“Everything in a frat house bathroom?”

“Babe, you got a mouth on you tonight.” Craig croons, yanking Mathis’ tank up and tossing it into the sink. “I gotta liquor you up and fuck you more often.”

Or fuck more often, but that’s another thing entirely. 

Mathis attempts to yank Craig’s tee off his own torso, but Craig’s providing zero assistance. He only reveals the soft squish of his stomach, until Craig presses him harder against the door, and starts to really kiss him. Holding his jaw still so they can get deeper, sweeter — Mathis’s head is swimming with something other than booze at this point, and he loves it. There’s far less patience in their touching, and it’s replaced by desperation. Need. Humid quickness.

“Pants.” Craig grits, pawing at his fly, the soft hair at Mathis’ belly. “Get them off.”

“Give me a second to, and I’ll do it.” Mathis complains, but it twists into a moan when Craig bites into his pec and sucks his nipple. “That’s not helpful!”

“Whatever.” Craig hisses and pulls Mathis away from the door, and pushes his ass up against the gross sink. The edge digs into Mathis’s hamstring and he grunts in pain, but Craig’s undoing his fly, pulling down his pants and underwear and gripping his leaky dick tight. Mathis shudders, the cool porcelain and the tightness overloading his brain.

“Wanna fuck you up against the sink.” Craig mutters into his ear, thumb rolling in sweet circles over his dribbly head. 

“You got lube?” Mathis prays, his cock springing at the suggestion.

“No, but I got spit.” Craig frowns.

“Craig…” Mathis whines, wrapping his arms around his neck. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’ll fuck you at home. Let’s just —” Craig zips down his fly and whips out his own aching prick. “I wanna come now.”

“God, me too.”

They line their dicks up, and true to his word, Craig spit in his hand, grippping both of them together, and begin to thrust. Mathis buries his face into Craig’s shoulder, murmuring small praises and moans into his damp skin. His name. Expletives. Something that definitely isn’t begging for more.

The roar of the party outside is drowned out by their own huffing breath, their accelerating heartbeats. It may have been embarrassing that Mathis’ orgasm is building so fast, so aggressively, but he doesn’t care. Because Craig is sucking his tongue, and he tastes like beer, and the friction is so _good_ where it almost hurts, all sticky and hot and _yes_ and Mathis head spins unlike it ever has.

Feels a lot of things bubbling up in his mouth — words he wants Craig to listen to. Questions about their situation. Their relationship. Why they’re being so weird since the corn maze, so stifled, and private. Not bad or toxic, just — Mathis wants more. Needs more. Wants to hold hands in the quad, sleep in the same bed sometimes, tell his friends that he has a boyfriend. Someone that takes him out to dinner and plays Mario Kart on the Nintendo 64 with and lets him gush about astrology to. Someone that he can say I love you to.

Someone he can feel intimate and safe with. Someone like Craig.

Craig’s breathing sounds labored, marathon-like, and Mathis loves the way his jaw tenses. A stray _fuck_ falls like gravel from his lips. The perspiration beading on his tummy, his shoulders, his biceps. His thrusts aren’t as rhythmic, as careful, Mathis digs his ass into the sink for more purchase and fucks harder against him, so slick and warm and so fucking good.

“Mathis.” Craig mouths against his ear, saliva-slick and hot, “I’m gonna —”

“Please.” Mathis huffs, pulling him closer, melding their skin. “I need you.”

Craig’s mouth opens wider, and his body shudders, like an electrical surge, and suddenly his stomach is sticky. Craig comes, fast and sloppy and so relieved. His groan echoes in the bathroom. Mathis digs his hands into his sweaty scalp, and jerks against him, all sensitive and nasty until Mathis’ own orgasm stabs him through the guts. 

The bathroom is noisy with their panting. Mathis wishes that the two of them can fuck in their own bedroom for once.

“Hey.” Craig’s voice sounds trampled on. “You’re so amazing.”

Mathis feels his face heat up, his body still jelly like in the afterglow. “You too.”

“God, you’re the best.” Craig dips forward and gently pecks a line of kisses along Mathis’ jaw. “I love you.”

Mathis’s stomach flips. “Really?”

Craig regards him like he has two heads. “Uhhh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I love my boyfriend?”

Suddenly, it seems silly. All the worries. All the anxieties. Mathis can’t help but burst into laughter, unrestrained, into Craig’s shoulder, shaking with his afterglow giggles.

“What so funny, bro?!”

Hmm. Maybe it is that easy after all.


End file.
